The White Bird
by Sue
Summary: Movie-verse. A Gondorian superstition brings comfort to the young sons of Denethor following their mother's death. From the HA list's superstition challenge.


TITLE: The White Bird  
  
Disclaimer: The characters and a small portion of the dialogue in this story are the property of the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema. I am making no profit from their use.  
  
SUMMARY: An ancient superstition brings comfort to the sons of Denethor.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story was written as an answer to the Superstitions of Middle-Earth challenge at the Henneth-Annun list. It's been expanded from its original length of about 1000 words. A note about the superstition used in the story follows the main body of text.  
  
Many thanks to my sister Sarah for her suggestions, and Mackie for being my beta! :)  
  
Feedback is always welcome and appreciated!  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Sue :)  
  
  
THE WHITE BIRD   
  
  
Boromir opened his eyes, and wondered what had awakened him.  
  
As the ten-year-old boy turned over in his bed, he did the first thing he always did when this happened: he looked over to his little brother's bed across the room, to make sure he was all right. After a moment, he sighed.  
  
The bed was empty.  
  
Sitting up, he brushed his long, straight, light brown hair from his eyes and quickly scanned the large bedchamber. Faramir wasn't by the bookcase, the first place Boromir always checked for him when the younger boy wasn't in his bed. His eyes continued their travels, past the corner where Boromir's wooden weapons lay strewn about untidily, the tall wardrobe, the table where the two boys pursued their daily studies. Still no sign.  
  
Then his gaze flicked over to the tall windows, where the moonbeams were streaming into the chamber. A tiny form, almost lost beneath the towering grandeur of the window, knelt before the windowsill, gazing into the starlit night sky.  
  
Something twinged in Boromir's stomach and he slid carefully out of his bed, frowning. Faramir hadn't been sleeping well since their mother's death, some six months before, and while he'd been getting better lately, it looked as if tonight was not going well.  
  
Quietly Boromir strode across the cold stone floor, his long nightshirt swirling around his bare legs. Unwelcome memories filtered through his mind, of him and Faramir saying farewell to their mother who had grown so pale and fragile, of the nights spent holding his little brother in his arms while Faramir sobbed himself to sleep. And their father, whom both boys adored, almost eaten alive by grief. It had only been in the last month that Boromir had seen him smile for the first time since their mother's death.   
  
The memory of Denethor's sadness added extra caution to the young boy's steps. Their father's temper was formidable, especially of late, and he had to be careful so they wouldn't be caught awake so late at night. The Steward's patience with his younger child had been particularly short recently, and he would be angry with Faramir for getting Boromir out of bed, if they were discovered.  
  
The younger boy didn't move as Boromir approached. His chin rested on his crossed arms, the moonlight crowning his head of reddish-blonde curls with a halo of silver. Despite the fact that Faramir was clad only in a white nightdress, he seemed oblivious to the cool night air stealing in around him.   
  
At the last moment, the small head turned slightly, and Boromir knew he'd been noticed. Taking a few last, quick steps, he slipped to his knees next to his brother and put an arm around Faramir's thin shoulders.  
  
"You know you shouldn't be out of bed," Boromir whispered, trying not to wake their nurses next door. "Are you sick?"  
  
Faramir's head shook slowly, once, but his gaze never left the night sky.  
  
Boromir pursed his lips, throwing a nervous glance toward the nurses' door. "Well, you're going to be if you sit in this night air much longer," he said softly. "And you know Father won't like it if he finds out you've been up."  
  
He heard a faint sniffle, and Faramir turned to him, his large blue eyes shining in the moon's glow. "I know," he confessed, his high childish voice fraught with sadness in a whisper that was just a little too loud. "I was thinkin' 'bout Mother."  
  
"Shh!" Boromir said gently, putting a finger to his lips. After another glance toward the nurses' door, he leaned in close, his expression turning serious. "Just -- we don't want to wake Aryn and Hallas."  
  
Faramir looked over toward the closed door and nodded. "I won't."  
  
Boromir nodded his acceptance of Faramir's promise and draped his free arm on the windowsill. "We don't have to go back to bed right away if we're quiet. Did you have another bad dream?"  
  
Faramir sighed, much softer this time, as he looked back out the window. "The halls were all cold and dark, like right after Mama left," he said in a small voice. "Everyone was crying, and Father was so sad. When I woke up I felt like it just happened, and I didn't want to go to sleep again." He rubbed his nose with one tiny hand and sighed. "I'm sorry, B'mir, I know I'm bein' bad..."  
  
"No, you're not," Boromir corrected him quickly-- but quietly -- as he squeezed Faramir's shoulder. "Well...you shouldn't be out of bed, but don't worry, I won't tell. When I dream about when Mother died, I don't want to sleep, either. But you'll get sick if you don't, and she wouldn't like that."  
  
"I know," Faramir mumbled in a tiny, miserable voice as he played with the drawstring of his nightdress, twisting it in his small hands as he stared at it. "I wish she was coming back."  
  
"So do I," Boromir agreed sadly, tightening his hold on his little brother. He never knew what to say at times like this, and hoped that the hug was enough.   
  
Faramir sniffed again and leaned a little into Boromir's chest, his gaze lifting once more to the sky. "Do you think she misses us, like we miss her?"  
  
The older boy nodded. "Mmm-hmm," he said, following his brother's eyes into the starry heavens. "But it's said the dead can see us from where they are, so she can see us when she wants to. Remember, that's what Gandalf told us."  
  
"I 'member," murmured the little boy, brushing some long, straying curls from his eyes. "But how can we tell if she's watching?"  
  
Boromir frowned for a moment, thinking. Suddenly something moving outside the window caught his attention. He studied it for a moment, smiled a little, and pointed at it. "Look!"  
  
On a wall not far away sat a small white bird, bathed in moonlight and watching the two young boys intently. At being seen, it chirped a little and ruffled its feathers.  
  
"Remember that old story Nurse Aryn told us, about the white bird?" Boromir whispered quickly. "When spirits reach their new home, they send a white bird back to their loved ones to let them know they're safe. So if you see a white bird watching you, that means someone who's passed on is thinking of you, and wants you to know they're all right."  
  
Faramir gazed at the bird, his eyes completely round. The little bird hopped a few inches closer to the window, blinked, then chirped again and flew away, soaring over the rooftops of Minas Tirith into the night sky.  
  
Faramir stared after the small creature. "Do you think Mother sent that bird?" he finally whispered, his voice full of awe.  
  
Privately, Boromir didn't really believe in such superstitions, but he would not have told Faramir this for any amount of gold. "Of course," he replied, giving the little boy a squeeze. "See, she knew you'd be worried, and wants you to know she still loves us and misses us."  
  
Faramir slowly gasped, still staring into the sky. "I hope he 'members to tell her we miss her, too," he finally said.  
  
Boromir climbed to his feet. "I'm sure he will," he said softly, "but if you don't go back to bed, he might come back and see you're still awake, and tattletale to Mother on you. She'd want you asleep by now, I'm sure."  
  
He helped the little boy up as Faramir yawned and rubbed his eyes, and guided him back to his bed as silently as possible.  
  
"I'm glad Mother sent that bird," Faramir whispered as he slid back into bed. "I hope she sends one to Father, too. He's so sad."  
  
"I'm sure she will," Boromir replied, tucking him in and feeling bad that Faramir had noticed how sorrowful their father had been lately. The boy didn't need to be troubled by that, too.   
  
A frown crossed Faramir's smooth face as Boromir finished securing the last corner of the blanket. "What if the bad dreams come back?"  
  
Boromir thought for a moment, then smiled and leaned closer. "Don't worry," he whispered, "I'll bet Mother asked that white bird to chase all the bad dreams away so they won't bother you. So you can close your eyes, and next thing you know it'll be morning." He gave his brother a very quick good-night kiss on the forehead, followed by a brief, gentle ruffling of the child's curly hair. "Now go on back to sleep before we both get in trouble."  
  
Faramir gave him a drowsy, grateful smile and snuggled down into his bed, his eyes fluttering shut. Boromir waited a few minutes, watching for any sign of distress. Convinced at last that Faramir had fallen asleep, he padded swiftly back to his own bed and climbed in, relieved. Maybe the ancient belief was true, and maybe it wasn't; either way, it had helped Faramir, and that was all that mattered.   
  
He settled back in, and both boys were soon sound asleep. Neither of them saw the white bird return and perch on the windowsill to watch them, or saw it fly away toward the West at the break of dawn.  
  
******  
  
*Many years later*  
  
Faramir looked out into the early morning rain through the flap of his tent and sighed. This was going to be a hard day, and it was not starting out well at all.  
  
The battle around the ruins of Osgiliath the day before had been difficult; the Orcs had almost won, and in his heart Faramir knew their narrow defeat had only postponed the inevitable. Perhaps when he saw his father, he could plead for more men, but he no longer believed it would really make any difference. And after what had just happened, he doubted the Steward would listen to anything Faramir had to say.  
  
He lifted his eyes and stared out into the misting rain, the early dawn coloring everything beyond the tent flap a dull gray. Had Frodo, Sam and the mysterious creature Gollum succeeded in escaping to the eastern bank of the Anduin? he wondered. He could only hope so; he had done all he could, once he truly understood the dire nature of the small Hobbit's quest, to see that they were safely placed back on their way to the realm of Mordor. Now he had his own challenge to face, for today he would have to ride home and tell his father that he had just set free the only weapon which would have spared Gondor from destruction.  
  
There was no doubt in his heart that he had acted for the best, Faramir mused as he watched the scutting clouds. He had seen the Ring's evil power at work, felt it touch his own mind, heard how it had twisted Boromir past the point of madness-such a weapon, no matter how powerful, could never be allowed into Gondor. If it had so perverted the creature Gollum, and his noble brother, how would it bend his father's mind, which was already wavering? Faramir shuddered at the thought. No, their only hope was for the Ring to be destroyed.  
  
But Denethor had greatly desired the Ring, and the Steward of Gondor frowned on acts of defiance. And nowhere did that frown fall more heavily than on the shoulders of his youngest son.  
  
Faramir shuddered and rubbed his face; traveling into the realms of the Dark Lord seemed scarcely more perilous than facing his father with such news. Since Boromir's death, Denethor's words to him had become as sharp and bitter as a sword dipped in poison. Faramir had tried to think of the best way in which to couch his reasoning for allowing the One Ring to escape, but the prospect was daunting. Father's rage would certainly be terrible, and Faramir dreaded the meeting. It had always been difficult to bear the scorn of the man whose love he had always yearned for, but had never gained; what he was facing now would likely be the worst.   
  
Another sigh escaped his lips, and he loosely folded his hands and watched it rain, hoping the way would not be too muddy to ride home. A heavy sadness settled over his heart as he contemplated the leaden sky.  
  
Ah, Boromir, how I wish you were here, he thought as the dull ache of grief wrapped around his heart. You would stand beside me at this hour, and strengthen my resolve to see this through, no matter the pain. I must make him see that this is right, yet I fear that he never will, and my heart shall break with the trying...  
  
Suddenly he blinked, staring out into the rain. Something was moving in the grass near the tent, fluttering in the morning mist. The tall green blades rustled, parted, and the tiny form emerged, shaking the water from its wings.  
  
It was a small white bird. Faramir sat up, amazed; he knew the forests of Ithilien better than any man alive, and knew that no white birds called its branches home. An old childhood memory flooded into his mind, causing his heart to quicken as a curious warmth overwhelmed his being.  
  
The bird hopped closer, until it was almost inside the tent. It sat at the threshold, cocking its small head and regarding him calmly with jet-black eyes.  
  
Faramir was motionless now, his hands on his knees, scarcely able to breathe. The recollection swept through his weary mind as he stared at the bird; he could hear Boromir's gentle, reassuring words, feel his touch upon his shoulder...   
  
_ "When spirits reach their new home, they send a white bird back to their loved ones to let them know they're safe."_  
  
He shivered in the morning chill, so near did his brother's voice seem to him at that moment. But surely that was simply an ancient nurse's tale. How could he believe such things, surrounded as he was by evil and despair?  
  
The bird chirped a little and hopped a bit closer. It seemed to be waiting.  
  
Faramir looked at it keenly for a long moment, his mind wrapped in deep contemplation. Old belief it might be, but it had eased his heart long ago, when it was troubled with childish grief; why deny its gentle power now, when the pain was so much the greater? After all that he had learned and seen, was it so impossible to believe that his brother, wherever he was, had remembered that night so long ago, and sent what comfort he could?   
  
At length, Faramir leaned forward, bending his head down and locking his gaze on the bird's eyes.  
  
"Say to my brother," he said very softly, "that I will act as he would have me, and bear what I must for Gondor and our people." He paused, then added, "Let him also know that I miss him greatly, and am glad that he sent you to tell me that he is well."  
  
The bird ruffled its feathers, chirped once more, and flew away into the gray sky. Faramir watched it go, his expression thoughtful; perhaps Boromir had asked the bird to visit their father as well, and the sight would grant some measure of peace to his troubled mind. If Denethor would only see...  
  
Taking a deep breath, Faramir stood, noticing that the rain had stopped and the sun was attempting to break through the gray clouds. He glanced out of the tent as he reached for his leather armor, just in time to see the white birdwheel past the trees on the border of Osgiliath. A second white bird suddenly appeared from within the trees, and swiftly flew to join the first, the misty forest ringing with their joyous song. Faramir watched with quiet awe as the two white birds swooped over his tent one final time, then flew away towards the White City, vanishing quickly into the golden haze of the new dawn.  
  
****  
  
Added Author's Note: I wrote this without having much time to research, and admit that I thought I'd made up the idea of birds being regarded as spiritual messengers. However, many kind people on the HA list have told me that there actually is such a belief that departed souls send birds to those they have left behind. So, thanks to my fellow HA listmembers for setting me straight! I think it's a lovely belief and enjoyed using it to help brighten the lives of Boromir and Faramir.   
  
Thanks for reading!  
  
Sue :)


End file.
